


the colors of the world

by camellialice



Series: when tomorrow comes [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, jehan is a badass don't let anyone tell you otherwise, jehan/cosette brotp, this is really goopy and fluffy you have been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camellialice/pseuds/camellialice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things that Jehan teaches Courfeyrac, and most are about beauty.  Courfeyrac can’t remember much of life before Jehan, but it must have been horrifically drab and dull.  Jehan sees the world differently from most people, finds elegance in everything, and Courfeyrac wonders if there was any color in his life before he met the poet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the colors of the world

Jehan loves thunderstorms.

At first, Courfeyrac doesn’t get it.  He pictures Jehan as a sunshine-and-butterflies kind of guy, and while Jehan does indeed adore sunny days, he also adores thunderstorms.

“I think they’re just delightful,” Jehan reasons, and Courfeyrac doesn’t understand.

He begins to understand when he spends the night at Jehan’s apartment during a storm.  He isn’t supposed to spend the night, but Jehan insists that Courfeyrac not walk home during such heavy rainfall.  Courfeyrac, intoxicated by the poet’s company, doesn’t object.

The moment they first hear the distant rumble of thunder, Jehan jumps up with a squeal and puts the kettle on for tea.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Courfeyrac asks doubtfully.  Jehan pretends not to hear him.

Next he disappears into his bedroom and returns with his arms full of quilts.  He dumps them on the sofa and drags Courfeyrac over.

“What are we doing?”

“Snuggling.”

Alright then, thinks Courfeyrac.  I am very okay with this.

So they make tea and cuddle in a nest of quilts, listening to the rain splash against the windows and the thunder roll, and Courfeyrac is beginning to understand the beauty of thunderstorms.

  

There are a lot of things that Jehan teaches Courfeyrac, and most are about beauty.  Courfeyrac can’t remember much of life before Jehan, but it must have been horrifically drab and dull.  Jehan sees the world differently from most people, finds elegance in everything, and Courfeyrac wonders if there was any color in his life before he met the poet.

 

Jehan has always sat next to Courfeyrac at meetings, ever since Enjolras first brought him meet Les Amis.  It was awkward, that first day--Jehan was shy and Courfeyrac was too much to handle, with his beaming grin and easy friendliness and incorrigible flirting.  It used to unsettle Jehan, before they were close enough that Courfeyrac began to let his guard down.

“You use your flirtatiousness as armor,” Jehan explained to him once.  “It doesn’t make any sense.  You hide behind a mask of congeniality, but there is so much more to you than a pretty face.”

Courfeyrac looked thoughtful, and then his face split into a smirk.  “You think I’m pretty?”

Jehan blushed.

Now, he looks at his friend and is grateful that Courfeyrac is comfortable enough to relax around him.  Jehan admires Courfeyrac’s extroversion but loves even more when Courfeyrac shows up at his door with a movie and says he needs to be away from people for a while.  He cherishes the time they spend together, just the two of them, and treasures his memories of those precious moments.  He wonders if this is the sort of feeling his favorite love poems refer to.

Courfeyrac catches his eye and grins at him.  Jehan smiles back involuntarily, and turns to listen to Enjolras, trying not to think of his friend’s warm brown eyes.

  

They’re in a bar for Feuilly’s birthday.  It’s a small celebration (because Bahorel refused to let Courfeyrac plan it, which he insists was a mistake), just them and their friends and an open tab.  Musichetta knows the owner, which is probably why they haven’t been kicked out yet, rowdy as they are--that and the fact that they’re providing good business for the small venue.

Enjolras, of course, is boring as usual, sitting off to the side with a bottle of water while an increasingly inebriated Grantaire cajoles him.  He’d agreed to come for Feuilly’s sake, but even his respect and admiration for the birthday boy isn’t enough to make him a fun drinking buddy.  Combeferre, beside him, does drink, but only a little.  Mostly he focuses his attention on keeping Enjolras from murdering Grantaire, though occasionally he seems distracted.

Jehan pokes Courfeyrac’s side, drawing his attention away from his friends, and leans in close to be heard over the din of the bar.  “He’s been stealing glances at Eponine all night,” the poet informs him conspiratorially.  Courfeyrac follows Combeferre's gaze to the girl, who’s laughing loudly at Bahorel’s favorite (quite obscene) joke.  She’s a relatively new member of the group, but it won’t take her long to figure out that he tells that one every time he gets drunk.  She is nice, though, and could be a good match for Combeferre.

“It’s about time that poor guy got laid,” he tells Jehan instead, and his friend stifles a giggle, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol.  The lights of the bar seem brighter than before, and Courfeyrac himself feels giddy and light-headed.  He doesn’t even notice the pair of men who come up behind him, doesn’t register their presence until he hears the word “fag” flung his way.  It's as if ice water has been poured down his spine.  He straightens up and turns around to face them.

“What did you say about me?” he asks, with a faint imitation of cordiality.

“Not you,” one of them clarifies.  “Your pansy friend over there.”  He’s gesturing to Jehan, and suddenly Courfeyrac feels a flash of rage.  He’s standing before he realizes it.

“Care to repeat that?” He tries to look as dangerous as possible, and hopes it works.  It won’t be long until Enjolras catches wind of what’s going on, and that’ll be a spectacle--but at this rate, Courfeyrac is kind of looking forward to it.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Douchnozzle #1 laughs. “I wasn’t talking to you.  I was talking about the fairy.”

Courfeyrac sneaks a glance to his right and shit, it’s clear from his expression that Jehan has realized they’re talking about him.

“Alright then,” Courfeyrac begins, clenching his fists, but Jehan interrupts him by laying a gentle hand on his arm.

“Courf...”

“Come on, guys,” Joly urges from Jehan’s other side.  “Ignore them.  They’re just assholes.”

Courfeyrac doesn’t want to ignore them.  “They called Jehan a--”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet,” Douchenozzle #2 coos.  “He wants to defend his faggy boyfriend.”

That’s the last straw.

“Please leave,” Courfeyrac grits out.  “This instant, actually, or I’ll--”

“Or you’ll what?” One of the dickheads taunts.  He leans in close to Courfeyrac, gross beer breath ghosting over his face.  “You gonna hit me? I’d like to see you try.”

Courfeyrac swallows, because he knows deep down he probably couldn’t even bruise the guy (though God, does he want to), but is spared from attempting to do so.  In that moment, there is a sickening crack as a fist connects with the bastard’s jaw, knocking him off balance.

“What the fuck,” his friend splutters, and Jehan turns to him.

“I’m sorry,” the poet asks in his most polite, innocent voice.  “Did you have something to say?

“No--”

“Good,” Jehan retorts, and punches him as well.  He leans over the two oafs and says, carefully and deliberately, “Do not antagonize my friends or me again.  Do you understand?”

They nod, and Courfeyrac is unable to wipe the awe off his face before Jehan looks up at him apologetically.

"Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly.

“Are you kidding? That was--”  Hot.  That was really freaking hot and I want to kiss you, fiercely and passionately.  

“Awesome!” Bahorel interjects.  “That was awesome.  Where’d you learn to hit like that?”

Eponine picks up the men on the floor.  “You guys okay?” she asks sympathetically.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” one shrugs, massaging his jaw.

“Cool.  Get the fuck out of here,” she instructs.

He goes.  His friend moves to follow him, but wavers, and turns to Eponine.  “Are you free sometime? Because--”

“Would you like another mouthful of fist?” she offers sweetly, and he practically runs out of the bar.

The manager has approached their party now and clears his throat before addressing Musichetta.  “I’m really sorry,” he begins, “but I think I’m obliged to ask you guys to leave, bar policies, etc, etc...”

“That’s okay,” Bossuet assures him.  “I think we’re done here anyway.”

When Courfeyrac crashes on Bahorel’s couch at 3:00 the next morning, his last thought before drifting off to sleep is of Jehan, the fierce little poet who picks flowers and beats up bullies.  Courfeyrac wonders how long he's been in love with one of his closest friends without realizing, but decides that is a train of thought to avoid until he's considerably more sober.

 

Jehan meets Cosette in a seminar on Romantic poetry.  They go out for coffee afterwards and talk for hours.  They gel instantly, agreeing entirely on every point but still finding plenty to talk about.  He shares some of his most recent poems with her, and she asks for his advice on a paper she’s writing for her Feminist Media Studies class.  He tells her about Les Amis and her eyes light up with excitement.  They’re so absorbed in conversation that she nearly misses a text from her father.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she apologizes, gathering her notebooks from the table and stuffing them into her bag.  “It’s just that Papa and I volunteer at the homeless shelter every Tuesday night, and I’m going to be late if I don’t leave soon...”

“It’s fine,” he assures her, and stands to kiss her cheek.  Jehan watches his new friend dash out the door into the brisk March chill and feels something within his chest warm.  He sips his raspberry tea and texts Courfeyrac.

  

When Jehan asks permission to bring a friend to his party, Courfeyrac says, “Yeah, of course!”

When Jehan shows up on Courfeyrac’s doorstep with a gorgeous blonde chick who stepped straight out of a Disney movie, Courfeyrac wants to take back his gracious invitation and shut the door in her face.  Instead he greets them both with a hug and welcomes them into his apartment.

It’s not that she isn’t nice.  Actually, the problem is that she’s too nice.  It’s unfair for any human being to be that perfect.  Even Enjolras is in love with her. And it’s especially unfair that Jehan keeps smiling at her like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

When Courfeyrac can’t take any more, he suggests a game of Truth or Dare.  It’s a welcome distraction, at least, until a red-faced Enjolras asks Jehan who he’s in love with.  Jehan blushes furiously and his eyes dart over to Cosette, who hides her gasp behind her delicate porcelain hands.  The truth hits Courfeyrac like a train and he bolts to his feet so fast he feels dizzy.

“New game!” he cries rather desperately, reaching for one of Grantaire’s many empty bottles.

“You can’t be serious...” he hears Combeferre complain.

“Oh, my dear, ‘Ferre, but I am.  Quite serious.  Who first?”

Eponine chooses Grantaire as the first victim, and Courfeyrac hands him the bottle as he sits down.  He can’t help but glance over at Jehan, who is looking pointedly at the ground.  He returns his focus to the group in time to see Enjolras storm away from the game.

Maybe it’s because he feels horrible, maybe it’s because Grantaire looks miserable, maybe it’s because he’s been drinking, maybe it’s because the tension in the room is suffocating, but Courfeyrac laughs and says, “Well if Enjolras isn’t going to take advantage of this golden opportunity...”  He looks across at Grantaire, who seems grateful for the diversion, and meets him halfway in the middle of the circle.

He doesn’t look at Jehan before his lips crash into Grantaire’s, and then he closes his eyes and lets himself forget about everything besides the feel of Grantaire’s mouth on his, Grantaire’s hand cupping his jaw, Grantaire’s skin where Courfeyrac has inadvertently rucked up his shirt.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, Jehan is gone.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Cosette asks for the billionth time.

Jehan smiles at her.  “Of course!  You’ll be a great part of the group, Enjolras loves you already.”

“Not about that,” she clarifies.  “Courfeyrac.  Have you talked to him?”

“No.  Why should I talk to him?  I don’t need to talk to him.”  He unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches to open the door, but she grabs his arm.

“You need to talk to him,” she says softly.

He sighs.  “There’s nothing to talk about.”  He gets out of the car.

Everyone adores Cosette as much as they should, as much as they did at Courfeyrac’s party.  But otherwise, the meeting is agonizing.  Jehan can’t bring himself to sit next to Courfeyrac, but as he picks a chair between Bahorel and Cosette he finds himself staring at his usual seat.  With no one next to him Courfeyrac looks stranded, but Jehan drags his gaze away.  He wants to leap across the table and hug Courfeyrac but he can’t.  At this point, the rift between them is too wide to even try to bridge.

When things get unbearable, Jehan flees to the bathroom.  He splashes water on his face and glares at his own reflection.  He sees nothing there, no reason for Courfeyrac to kiss him instead of Grantaire.  His shoulders slump in resignation.

The door creaks open behind him, and he wheels around, leaning against the sink and attempting to look casual.  A mass of dark curls appears and Jehan freezes.

“Are you alright?”

It’s Grantaire.  Jehan adores Grantaire.  Grantaire kissed Courfeyrac.  Jehan does not want to talk to Grantaire right now.

He plasters a smile onto his face.  “Of course I am!”

Grantaire looks troubled though.  “Look, I just wanted to find out... There’s nothing going on between you and Cosette, right?”

The question comes out of the blue, and for a moment, Jehan feels like he’s been knocked off balance.  Him and Cosette?  How could that ever be possible?  “What? No.”

Grantaire seems relieved.  “Good, because Courfeyrac was really upset during the party.  He thought you two were... well, it doesn’t matter.”

Jehan doesn’t know exactly how to describe his emotions at this point.  His mind scrambles as he tries to rearrange his entire perspective of the party.  Suddenly everything clicks into place, and his jaw drops open.

He needs to talk to Courfeyrac.

 

Courfeyrac watches Jehan excuse himself and sighs.  Enjolras breaks off in the middle of his speech when Grantaire leaves as well, eyes following the cynic away from the table.  Combeferre nudges him and Enjolras hastily returns to what he was saying, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. Joly and Bossuet are gossiping in their corner, clearly worried.  Eponine looks exasperated.  It’s been like this for the entire meeting.  Courfeyrac wonders if it would be rude to go home.

Someone taps him on the shoulder, and a soft voice whispers, “Mind if I sit here?”

Courfeyrac whips around faster to see his beautiful poet, and his heart leaps.  “Please,” he says, and hopes he doesn’t sound too eager.  Jehan takes his seat (and that’s so much better, Courfeyrac thinks, it’s so right to be beside him).

But then he remembers, and his heart sinks again.  “Shouldn’t you be with Cosette?” he asks.

Jehan smiles as if he’s hiding some particularly amusing secret, and shakes his head.  “She’s not my girlfriend, Courf.  Did you honestly think that?”

“No,” Courfeyrac scoffs, but feels like ten ton weight has been lifted off his chest.  “Um, do you wanna hang out tonight? We could watch a movie, or...”

“I’d love to,” Jehan beams, and Courfeyrac wants to punch the air.

It’s not a date.  It’s not a date.  It’s not a date.

 

Even though things are fixed with Courfeyrac, Jehan doesn’t feel totally better.  There’s a weirdness he can’t explain affecting his mood, his poetry. Sometimes in the middle of the night he wakes up, scared and alone.  He has nightmares that mean nothing, flashes of pain and fear that don’t come from anywhere.  He feels like he’s falling apart.

And then he remembers.

It’s a big occasion, with a lot of crying and kissing, but the most important thing is that Courfeyrac is holding him like he could disappear at any second and Jehan clings to him as well.  They hold each other steady and then Courfeyrac is kissing him, at first softly but then hungrily and Jehan never wants it to stop, not even when the sky breaks open and releases a shower of rain.

 

Jehan sees the world in a cornucopia of colors.  He sees the shoots of scarlet that light up the sunset, the soft blues of the flowers he braids into his hair, the rich greens of the ivy climbing the walls of the university.  Courfeyrac never bothered to notice half of the colors that surround him, not until Jehan showed him the vibrant hues infused in his environment.  His world is so much more beautiful with Jehan in it, Courfeyrac thinks, as he squeezes Jehan’s hand and lets the poet lead him forward.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been centuries since i posted anything but tADA here you go in case anyone still remembers this series!  
> This story's been sitting in my documents for months and i've been picking at it since... i'm still not super happy with it but WHATEVER we're moving onward and upward. Maybe i'll even move past the events of the first story sometime in the next 200 years...  
> You all are utterly amazing, every single one of you. Thank you for reading, thank you for kudos, thank you for comments, thank you for existing. I love you and am infinitely grateful for your support!  
> Of course, most of the credit here goes to my beta/muse/bestie [freddie](http://teddylupine.tumblr.com).  
> Feel free to contact me at my [tumblr](http://mydearoswin.tumblr.com)!  
> Thanks again!  
> xxoo


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